’Twas envy, child, an odious sin,
That springs from ignorance and pride;
You grieved to see another taste
Enjoyments to yourself denied.
That little Miss you envied so
Lived six long months in constant pain,
Then the disorder seized her feet,
And she will never walk again.
I chanced to be at Mr. Wright’s
That very day, when Jane came home;
Her brother took her in his arms,
And brought her sobbing to the room.
Her mother tenderly enquired
What made her weep. “Alas!” she cried,
“Why, mother, will you urge your child
To seek for pleasure in a ride?
“At first, I looked with some delight
On the sweet fields so green and gay,
When happy children passed along,
As merry as the birds in May.
“They laughed, they jumped, they climbed the hedge,
For flowers their pretty wreaths to twine,
And then they wandered through the fields,
To gather blackberries from the vine.
“I wept, that with such joyous sports
I never more could take a part;
Kind Peter saw how sad I felt,
And tried to cheer my heavy heart.
“He brought me berries from the vine,
He gathered daisies nice and sweet;
But on the flowers I could not look,
The blackberries I could not eat.
“Oh, turn, I said, and drive me home,
Each object gives my heart a pain,
And let me in my chamber hide,
And never see a coach again.”
Now, dear Melinda, do you wish
That you was Jennie Wright, to ride
In a new coach whene’er you please,
And have a servant at your side?